hey now. it's not all romance and watering cans.

My kingdom for a bowl of fresh primavera! Let us be real for a moment here: myself being caught somewhere between Mary, Mary Quite Contrary and Isabella of Pot of Basil fame, my gardening dreams were always of the hopelessly aspirational five-years-down-the-road-when-they-figure-out-a-way-to-grow-free-time-on-trees variety. Past flirtations with horticulture have included the following: scattered perennial plantings that forgot they were supposed to be perennial; tulip bulbs that bloomed beautifully, only to be promptly beheaded by rabbits or squirrels with voracious appetites and return the following year as beds of leaves (half-hearted tulips); and an unknown number of house plants, all of which met an untimely end. I have always had the best of intentions, but what finally prompted me to buy a new pair of gardening gloves was not merely the fact that, in the nearly five years I have lived in my home, its backyard had gone from pristine Better Homes & Gardens' photo spread material (a state to which it was brought by its former owner) to a screenshot from Life After People, was a Giada De Laurentiis recipe for pasta primavera. It is simple and delicious - the quintessential spring meal - and it resurrected the Food Network fangirl in me and made me dream of making the dish with vegetables fresh from my own garden. Would Ina Garten simply go out and buy herbs for the fabulous dish she plans on serving her Italian friend (what's his name again?)? Nonsense! She goes on a leisurely stroll through her expansive exquisite garden and gathers all the green she needs. Then, it was decided: I would have a vegetable/herb/berries garden, and it would be modest but delightful. This initial plan, however, was met with some resistance by my husband, who said that a vegetable garden, though lovely, would perhaps look amiss in our suburban jungle backyard, and that we should concentrate on cleaning up the vines and weeds and evicting the pack of feral dogs before even contemplating brilliant beds of zucchini. As is my custom, I took his resistance and doubt as a challenge, stating that I would complete a total overhaul on the yard, in addition to planting the garden. Thus, here I stand, trowel in hand and floppy sun hat cocked (to the left). I'm not going for Martha Stewart. I just want some damn cilantro.